Purple Backpack
Active Member
- Time of past OR future Camino
- CF’12 VF’16 VP w/variants 2022/23 Norte’23, CF ‘23
I was posting on a thread for a first time pilgrim who was thinking of canceling their trip. It made me think back to when I first learned of pilgrimages, especially since they are not part of American culture and we don't have the history that Europeans are so very fortunate to have in their backyards. I am curious to see how others found out about these unique experiences and am looking forward to some good stories. I'll start things off:
July 19, 2011.
Our family arrived in Oslo, hoping to find my grandfather's farm and a heritage I craved to know more about. The area is gorgeous, filled with emerald valleys, deep, dark fjords and steep mountains. We wandered from Eidsvold to Vik, never finding the actual farm but stood in the ancestral churchyard, walked the banks of the fjords and pondered why my family left such a beautiful place, not realizing the challenges of a new country that lay ahead.
Three days later, a mad man destroyed young lives on an island near the hotel where we had stayed. As we traveled first to Bergen, then far north to the Arctic Circle, candles appeared in town squares and windows, in remembrance of the victims. It was a somber time for Norway and our traveling family, witnessing an open culture deal with horrific violence not seen since World War 2.
July 29, 2011.
The trip was timed to end in the city of Trondheim, to see the medieval festival of St. Olav, whose tomb was historically a place of miracles and an ancient pilgrimage site. I had read of jousting, costumed performers and an outdoor pageant play recreating Olav's last battle, complete with knights on horseback. It was so much fun and we ended our trip with midnight mass in the gothic cathedral. We arrived early and were touched to see mirrors lining the center aisle, filled with lit candles, sparkling in memory of the shooting victims. Vatican cardinals filed into the pews in front of us, bedecked in full red regalia from head to toe, to celebrate the life and death of the saint. This was all beautiful, sad and a little surreal but then something happened that caught me even more off guard.
Worshippers trickled in, dressed in hiking shorts, worn boots and carrying wooden staffs. We're from the mountains, where everyone dresses that way but not for church. I was intrigued and learned after the service that these were pilgrims, who had trekked for a month from Oslo to Trondheim to celebrate the life of this saint. They were at the mass to receive a blessing after their pilgrimage.
I came home from that trip, intrigued by the thought of walking with a spiritual purpose and, let's be honest, by the sheer adventure aspect of it. I learned the history of pilgrimages and studied all the various routes, fascinated that people had walked for hundreds or even thousands of years to Trondheim, Jerusalem, Rome and Santiago de Compostela. This wasn't just a vacation, it was an entire culture that I desperately wanted to experience.
And so it began...
July 19, 2011.
Our family arrived in Oslo, hoping to find my grandfather's farm and a heritage I craved to know more about. The area is gorgeous, filled with emerald valleys, deep, dark fjords and steep mountains. We wandered from Eidsvold to Vik, never finding the actual farm but stood in the ancestral churchyard, walked the banks of the fjords and pondered why my family left such a beautiful place, not realizing the challenges of a new country that lay ahead.
Three days later, a mad man destroyed young lives on an island near the hotel where we had stayed. As we traveled first to Bergen, then far north to the Arctic Circle, candles appeared in town squares and windows, in remembrance of the victims. It was a somber time for Norway and our traveling family, witnessing an open culture deal with horrific violence not seen since World War 2.
July 29, 2011.
The trip was timed to end in the city of Trondheim, to see the medieval festival of St. Olav, whose tomb was historically a place of miracles and an ancient pilgrimage site. I had read of jousting, costumed performers and an outdoor pageant play recreating Olav's last battle, complete with knights on horseback. It was so much fun and we ended our trip with midnight mass in the gothic cathedral. We arrived early and were touched to see mirrors lining the center aisle, filled with lit candles, sparkling in memory of the shooting victims. Vatican cardinals filed into the pews in front of us, bedecked in full red regalia from head to toe, to celebrate the life and death of the saint. This was all beautiful, sad and a little surreal but then something happened that caught me even more off guard.
Worshippers trickled in, dressed in hiking shorts, worn boots and carrying wooden staffs. We're from the mountains, where everyone dresses that way but not for church. I was intrigued and learned after the service that these were pilgrims, who had trekked for a month from Oslo to Trondheim to celebrate the life of this saint. They were at the mass to receive a blessing after their pilgrimage.
I came home from that trip, intrigued by the thought of walking with a spiritual purpose and, let's be honest, by the sheer adventure aspect of it. I learned the history of pilgrimages and studied all the various routes, fascinated that people had walked for hundreds or even thousands of years to Trondheim, Jerusalem, Rome and Santiago de Compostela. This wasn't just a vacation, it was an entire culture that I desperately wanted to experience.
And so it began...
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